Rain
by jazzhands
Summary: Marissa's POV of events during season one will develop eventually into a series. Do not own The OC so dont sue me!
1. Rain

Rain

For as long as she could remember, she has always loved the rain. She didn't know why, but it always made things seem better. The people she knew all hated the rain," it's ruined my hair" or "it's making me all wet". Its rain, what do you think it is going to do? She has always loved it, it mask's what is really going on in the world, it makes the supposedly 'perfect world' seem less perfect. She has always loved it, it mask's what is really going on in the world, it makes the supposedly 'perfect world' seem less perfect.

Whenever it did rain, she loved to go outside and cry, well it was better than going into the bathroom, locking the door and turning the tap on so no one would hear you. There was more freedom outside, of course her mother hated her going outside in the rain, when she bothered to care about her, she always shouted out from the patio doors for her to come inside at that instant. But she never listened and continued to spin and enjoy herself in the rain. It took until her mother came out and dragged her till she came inside. Her dad always let her be, he was the only one that understood her, he let her have her space, and she was always grateful for it. He knew that she had her own problems, but he also knew that going out in the rain was her way of dealing with it.

Her problems were always solved by the rain, it drowned her sorrows and afterwards she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders; she had had time to breathe and let all her feelings out. But then it started to get hotter and hotter each day and the rainy days or moments started to get fewer and farther between. Then she had to turn to something else to drown her problems. Alcohol. She can't remember when she first started to drink, probably at one of Holly's parties or at Summer's house when her dad wasn't home, which was practically all the time. Everyone else was drinking it so obviously, being in the popular position she was in, she had to as well.

It was when she started to depend on it that she knew something had changed. It wasn't just at the parties anymore it was at home stealing a bottle from the cabinet, locking herself in the bathroom and drinking away her sorrows until she could just about manage to fill the bottle back up with water, put it back and then crawl into bed. She knew she had to do something, but she just didn't have the willpower to stop herself. What would she do if she didn't have alcohol? How would she cope? The questions went round and round in her head until she had had enough and got the bottle of clear straight liquid out and went to the bathroom to forget about her problem

But then _he_ came, and everything changed. She was no longer locking herself in the bathroom everyday; it was becoming less frequent because she was now depending on him. She knew she was, and she knew it would be a problem, because he would never always be there, but since he was at the time, she couldn't stop herself. She would visit him at night, crying, and he would always comfort her until she fell asleep then carry her back to her room. The next day neither would say anything about it at school, but they both knew it would happen again. No one knew about what was exchanged between the two and no one would but it carried on.

Then he left, and things changed forever, she no longer had her father to understand her, or _him_ to lean on anymore, and Summer was to preoccupied with Seth leaving, that she didn't notice what was going on around her. She was now on her own, and it seemed that that situation was quite permanent, so what was she going to do now? There was only one thing that she could turn to, it was there all the time, staring her in the face, the only thing that wasn't going to leave her. The bottle.


	2. Fire

**Fire. **

When I was little I used to burn things, small things- my dolls hair, blades of grass and ants with a magnifying glass. Now I burn memories. The memories that hurt too much to keep, all the ones of _him _I want to burn. Pictures, postcards, love letters and gifts I can burn. The physical reminders of him are easily destroyed. But the ones in my heart and mind scar me. They are forever imprinted upon my soul and I can't burn them out. I try to forget to drown my sorrows in my new love, vodka. But I can't. He's always there on the edge of my consciousness.

I wanted to go see him, to make him understand what he had done to me, to us. But I never got further than the edge of town. Chino is too far for my heart to go. It breaks a bit more every day I cant mend it anymore, I'm not even sure if I want to. I have found a friend in my despair and loneliness. I know it won't leave me- not until he comes back. When he left, I left too. I don't think he understood how much a part of me he was. He saw _me_, not some spoilt rich girl, but me. The real me, the me that died when he went away. I know he loves me, not her; but he chooses her over me because of his sense of what is right. But doesn't he know I'm burning for him. That I need him now more than ever, that I cant go on one more day without his touch, his love, his passion, his everything- I need that to be me.

I was always told to look pretty on the outside and the world will believe you are happy. That doesn't work when you're dying inside. The fire, passion and drive inside of me is slowly burning out. It's fading day by day; I'm a shell of who I was with him. If he only knew what he was, is, to me…I don't know how much longer I can go on without him. Everyday I hurt more and more, the alcohol numbs the pain- for awhile.

I sit alone in my room watching the fire burn. The flames licking one another, blurring to form one shape. The colours are so vibrant; I stare into the fire and am mesmerized by the beauty that is flames dancing. I watch as the edges begin to blur and the light slowly fades away. I slip into unconsciousness and my only thought is fire pretty, love hurts.


End file.
